Paper Hearts
by pierrotmask
Summary: Hearts are chambers made of papers. One moment they can fake a facade of pure innocence, so clean and unscratched and snap, you suddenly think whoever that person is, he or she might be gifted with the heart of gold. However, that isn't always the case. After all,there's a reason why papers may seem rigid and solid at first but no, they aren't. (Kyoya x OC / Kaoru x OC)
1. Preface

**Paper Hearts: Preface**

* * *

All hearts are meant to be brittle.

If you ask me which part of the human body is my favorite, I would say the human heart. As to the reason why I would give you such a fix, stiff answer, it's quite a simple theory, really. I have seen people break, lots of times (tears spilling like running tap and lips screaming in agony, simultaneously sending out a series of whimpers and whines like that of a kicked puppy) and from different types of people at that. Now, the question is: _what makes them cry?_

Hearts are chambers made of papers. One moment they can fake a façade of pure innocence, so clean and unscratched and _snap_, you suddenly think whoever that person is, he or she might be gifted with the heart of gold. However, that isn't always the case. There's a reason you can find the word "façade" and "fake" inside your pocket dictionary, there's a reason why papers may seem rigid and solid at first but no, they aren't. You get to burn papers, flame swallowing their edges – slowly and little by little – the color of red hungry beast and just like that, papers turn to a pile of ashes.

What I was trying to say was, the heart is a perfect, perfect place to lock all the lies going on in your life. The heart lies, not once or twice but probably for hundreds or millions of times. Bury them, bury them, one two three – everything, you mentally whispered. But everything has its limit, including the paper-based chamber. First burial, second burial, third and forth and it goes on until there's no more space left to squish more secrets, more facts and that's probably where you come to term with the so-said breaking point; exhaustion, fatigue, anger, frustration and all hell break loose, you break into shattered pieces of altered glasses. Cries and screams will resonate throughout the entire room.

_Let's build a scenario:_

Scenario one; your heart screams out frustration and yet, you're in the middle of a gathering party, surrounded by people who are too myopic to be cautious, to care about how pretentious they are. Your heart is saying, "go home, go run and leave the venue. Change lanes, quick," however, it's impossible. It would be rude, the guests are going to stare and it's going to stain your image so you stay; you stay til the party ends, you stay even though your heart says no.

_Put a simple one, this time._

Scenario two; you are the cold, anti-social being everyone throws virtual daggers at. Them looking with questioning eyes, them judging you from distance as you walk down the hallway. You're sick of being stared at, tired of being judged but you keep the exterior, the mask up and strong, like a brave lioness you were trained to be. Who would have known though, that once you're all alone, you'd start to weep like a lost five year old searching for her parents in crowded public.

You might be wondering why, of all words commonly used to associate "fake" with, I have chosen the word "paper" instead. I guess that's just how fragile a heart is; you can never know why, how and when will it break because it just happened. _Boom_, instant dynamite. Some of us said about how we are strong enough to take on any problem – anything and everything – to face consequences, to face the world with fortitude of a soldier. But do we, really?

And as we speak of how delicate and feeble your locker of emotion is, a baby cried in distance as a woman tried to calm the anxiety of her daughter, wrapping her arms around the tiny life securely, as if to say, "everything's alright. Everything will be alright."

The radiating smell of iodine and other chemicals dance in mid-air and the woman cringed in disgust, wanting nothing but to reach home as soon as possible. Beside her, her husband was pinned on his seat, pupils dilated and fists clenched – the expression of utter awe. The woman wrapped her free hand around her older daughter's wrist, trying to assure her with a gentle (fake, oh so fake – paper, paper smile) smile.

"Mama, what's the matter?" confused young child who was still too clueless, too innocent and flimsy to understand and comprehend the ugly revelation said by doctor in white a few minutes ago. The woman tightened her grip around the child's wrist, shaking her head gently and whispered "nothing is wrong" repeatedly while constantly reminding herself that there will be a time where she must be informed but no, not now.

"Nothing is wrong, everything will be alright." She repeated and perhaps, this time, it wasn't for her daughter but rather for herself.

The human heart could only hold so little for so much secrets; it's constructed and it breaks and the cycle is repeated. Hearts are chambers solely made of papers; it may shatter like glass or it may grow weaker by seconds before finally giving up and calling it quit. And before this preface ends, did I mention how it can also drown you into the pool of love and the next thing you know, everything seems to be doomed? Well, now that you know about it, here's another question: _are you going to continue on reading?_

The choice is yours.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

in which I hope I will continue and end this properly. I deleted my old Ouran fics only to return once more, with a new pen name at that and with a brand new plot. I don't know what is wrong with my brain, really. I guess I just miss writing something for Ouran. Oh and also, I like playing around with words hence the complexity. I hope you don't find this horrifying. I may not be the brightest writer out there but this isn't my first time writing a fic.

**Anyway, reviews are really needed so that I can decide whether I should continue or delete this, again.**

P.S: this was originally meant to be the Hitachiin twins x OCs fic but since I thought how fitting Kyoya is to serious, "heavy" plot, I decided to turn this into a Kyoya x OC, Kaoru x OC fic. (after all, I want to at least write a love story for one of the twins and Kaoru it is since I think he has enough time being Hikaru's shadow when it comes to relationship - no offense to Hikaru's fan because I love him as much too).

P.S.S: this was meant to be short on purpose since duh, it's a preface.


	2. Chizuru

**Paper Hearts**

**Chapter 1: Chizuru**

* * *

You know what they say about blending in? It's good, it's advantageous, it's helpful. And believe me, I tried; I tried to blend in, to fit in with the crowd but never did I actually succeed in grasping the trick, not really. The school is too much, the students are too glamorous and theatrical for my taste and truth be told, I never quite understood why I was admitted here in the first place. I could list every single aspect of this school that bothers me which I'd rather not.

So you see, my day starts off as pretty ordinary, blunt even. Occupying the usual, window seat at the last row, I scribble down whatever was written on the board. This, however, doesn't mean I am fully capable of absorbing all the nook and cranny of biology because no, I don't. Biology has never been my forte; it's not mine, it's my sister's. After all, she is who everyone fawns over for being the "instant-born genius", or so they have perceived it.

It wasn't until soon enough that I felt something landed on my forehead with a thud before finally landing on the floor, rolling a few meters away from my feet. I cringe. I never knew that a teacher could actually throw something to his student for the sake of bringing her conscience back to focus on boring axons and spinal cords. Beside me, I could hear a series of chuckles – and a mocking one at that – coming from someone familiar, so familiar that I am not going to discuss about it here or else I might have to—

"Masuda Chizuru!"

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is a decent signal that keeps my vicious, predator alter ego to come out and reach out for that particular human being's neck.

"_What?"_

Okay, I didn't mean that. No, honestly, I don't. I didn't mean to snap, to yell back like that. Uh oh, things don't look so good – there's no way it could be good, seeing how my nearly bald biology professor had his arms folded and a face so crumpled he looks menacing enough to be a dying buffalo.

"How dare you slept in my class—" I groan – something I shouldn't have done since his eyes are starting bulge so widely, "hm, alright, then. I want you to answer these questions, all of them." He points at the board behind his smooth, bald head. I keep the urge to place a palm on my forehead; I barely understand anything about axons and their stupid comrades and I am stupid enough to humiliate myself in biology class.

"Psh, I bet she doesn't understand a thing."

I growl, turning my head towards where the voice was coming from. There are a few things in this school that bother me but there is only one (okay maybe two since he has a clone of himself, sort of but here, right now, I am referring to only one of them) person – student – I've always wanted to strangle.

"Shut up." I don't even bother calling even his surname.

"Well, Masuda-san? I am waiting."

I don't like a lot of things and yes, I complain because that's one of the very few ways where I can let my emotion take the better of me (instead of throwing things around like a mad goose, that is). And one of the things that make me grumble in distress is the sight of students staring at me with their eyes that seem to smirk and laugh at how helpless I must look right now. I notice, from the corner of my eyes, how two identical looking human beings tap their fingers on their respective tables at the same time, as if waiting for a movie to continue rolling.

Except, I am not a movie and they are _not _suppose to be so amused, so entertained like that.

"I—I don't think I can do it?"

"_Masudaaaaa!"_

And that's it, the infamous bloodcurdling yell coming out from the lungs of Ouran's biology teacher who ranked first place in terms of "teachers with the most hideous looking expression."

* * *

I don't understand why adults have to scream like it's the end of the world. I don't understand why adults have to try and plunge themselves into our – _my_ – mind every time they found me spacing out in class. I don't understand why my biology teacher had to scold me with the speed of light, speaking like a broken tape running on a train's railway – no full stop, no punctuation mark – and that I had to face him, every second without failure, pretending to care about his words when I don't.

One of the reasons why I can never get along with any adult I've met: they are too complicated. They talk languages I am not familiar with, they go round and round the globe whenever they talk when it's just a simple theory of _"open your lips, get to the point, speak."_

"Masuda," he had sighed, fixing his glasses (they weren't even crooked. I bet he was just trying to look serious and intimidating which, by the way, he failed to do so thanks to his bald head), "you need to focus."

"Why?" the reply I retorted back doesn't seem to fascinate him, he frowned, wrinkles showing everywhere, "I'm stupid and you should probably give up on me, sensei."

I never wanted to say it out loud, how I always underestimate myself. Then again, tell me how to cure the bad habit when all you see in life is nothing but people gazing over how _amazing_ and _extremely gifted_ your sibling is. Suddenly, just like that, the scene plays in your head like distorted record (_repeat, repeat, rewind_ ) and you can't help but to believe in how small you've become, the world a place filled with a group of tall, monstrous skyscrapers while you're just a small bug standing in the center of them all.

Honestly? I've felt it and though at first I hated it, I've grown used to it.

"Masuda? You are spacing out, _again_." He waved before my face and for the first time ever since I've stopped taking teachers seriously, he had a look of exhaustion plastered on his aging face, "Masuda, you are _not_ stupid. Nobody is. You just have to—"

"—study hard so that I can achieve better marks and pass this class. Yeah, I get that a lot and not only in biology, but in other subjects as well," I declared, not satisfied even one bit, "but as you can see, sensei, I have subjects I'm not interested in—"

Back leaning against his chair, I watched as he massaged his temple, probably wondering what kind of sin did he even committed in the past that makes him to teach someone as stubborn and rebellious as me.

"Masuda, you know the third music room, don't you?"

"I am fully aware of where it is located, yes sir. That's the place where the host club runs, _a place filled with a bunch of rich idiots_." I mumbled the last phrase, imaging the faces of a particular redhead and his clone. It wasn't a very pleasant thing to remember though, if that's what you were wondering.

"As a punishment for sleeping in my class, I want you to clean the room as soon as their club activity is over."

"Can't you assign me to clean other places instead?" I groaned, "like, the second music room or something? Or maybe the hallway? I can do them, just anything other than that stupid room." The image of the chairman's blonde, half French son galloped through my mind and I instantly shook my head, grimacing in disgust.

"The third music room is likely to be in chaotic condition which happens every time the club activity is over. Also, this is a punishment and punishments are meant to be serious and heavy," I clicked my tongue which he seemed to be offended with but proceeded anyway, "if I were to assign you to clean the library, what are you going to do? Arrange the books in order? Oh, we have two librarians to fix that."

"You assigned me to that filthy room because the mess is going to be hideous and that it's going to cause all my effort to clean the whole thing up."

"Pretty much, yes. I want you to learn from your mistake, Masuda. I want you to stop sleeping in my class like a dead log. Oh, one last thing, girls do not snore like a farm pig, Masuda so please stop it."

I remember leaving the teacher's office with such frustrated heart that I had slammed the sliding door quite a bit. I didn't bother to apologize. I was too annoyed to do that. Well, I still do now but at least, it's not as bad as before.

On a completely different matter, do you know how they say food cures all? I sort of think they do, too. It's both weird and interesting at the same time that food, specifically sweet ones, can brighten up people's – _my_ – mood. Ice cream works well and cakes? Well, let's just say cakes work _even_ better, probably the best.

And while we are at it, cakes always seem to remind me of Haninozuka Mitsukuni; an alumni of Ouran who, from the rumors I've heard, is now a student in a university located not far from where this "chamber of wealthy snobs" is located. Alongside his cousin who, again from the rumors I heard, is a kendo expertise, a prodigy even at the age of seven (_or was it ten_?), the two of them occasionally visited the host club during their free time, saying something about "missing the old times."

Frankly, I've never talked to any of the hosts, not that I want to anyway. I've been thinking about possible answers as to why Suou Tamaki, the chairman's son, loves to drown himself in a pool of the whole playhouse-family game. Perhaps, he has some answers someone like me couldn't possibly decipher.

"Uh oh, look at who just got punishment for snoring in class like a pig."

"That's not a very nice thing to say, brother."

"But won't you agree that she does snore like a farm pig?"

"Ah, you sure have a point there."

There's no need for me to stop munching on my chocolate parfait, to turn around and check who my uninvited visitors are. Oh look, I can even tell you that it's "visitors" and not "visitor."

"So," another thing I dislike is people touching me. It's disturbing and it increases the anxiety and fear of publicity in me, I hate it. Without a word, I shove off the uninvited hand off my shoulder with a grunt, reminding myself to keep calm, to pin the urge of throttling him down right here and then in the cafeteria, "what's the punishment this time?"

One of the clones chuckle, his eyes staring at me and I feel underestimated. Again, like any other day. The other one (and I can tell you, positively, that he is the older one) tries to place his hand on my shoulder again to which I quickly slap it away. Do they always have to do this—this _"let's pretend to act all friendly before we crush our toys"_ thing? Because, really, that doesn't decrease the amount of hatred I have for them. If better, it's actually taking it to a higher level.

"Hm, you aren't the talkative type, are you," the younger one bemuses, his head tilting sideways, "I barely see you talking to anyone in this school—"

"—perhaps a cat got her tongue, brother."

"Oh, that is such a great possibility!"

The fake, pretentious joy drawn across the younger clone's face sickens me. I hiss and unfortunately, he seems to take notice of this.

"Why are you hissing—"

"—are you a snake, huh?"

Another trivia, another question: do they have to speak like that? Because it's confusing _and_ annoying. It's the same feeling of indignation as when I saw how the world bows down to everything my sister does.

"Oi, Masuda," it seems, folks, that my silence is starting to piss him off, "don't look so bitter. You always look so bitter at everything and everyone—"

"Yeah, relax, relax," by now, they are standing in front of me and I feel like looking at a twinset hologram of some baby clones or something, "you should chill, like your sister—"

Let's make this all clear and easy: generally, there are three things you can do to see me growling like a beast of the night. First, you can disturb me when I'm too occupied with my thoughts (just like what had happened earlier this morning during bio-axons-gathering) or two, you can take my sweets away. Third, however, is quite a taboo, something I don't really want to hear—

"Stop comparing me to—"

"Ah,look!" the clones speak, at the same time, whilst pointing at a familiar figure entering the cafeteria, "there she is!" and the instant my eyes grab hold of whoever that familiar figure is, I feel the nausea turning into one unpleasant knot in my stomach. I snicker.

As if the day couldn't get any worse, the figure managed to find me despite my best attempt in hiding behind Tweedledee-Tweedledum. I mutter out curses under my breath, feeling my fists turning numb as they clenched into a pair of tight balls. I don't like situation like this, I don't like being cornered and not knowing what to do. This is why I shouldn't have went to the cafeteria; I should have bought something and searched for a safe, empty spot where I can enjoy my sweets all alone, no disturbance no nothing and most of all, not the slightest presence of _her_.

"Chizu!"

That was all it took for me to quickly leave the grand cafeteria and abandon my half eaten chocolate bar and parfait. I heard my name being called, repeatedly in a very demanding tone, but that doesn't mean I should stop. No, I don't and I won't. I am not turning back, neither will I make the effort to. I am not facing her, I _don't feel_ like facing her.

I am not ready to feel so small, so dependent and helpless. Not again.

I don't quite understand it myself either; I don't _hate_ her but I don't _like_ her either. I guess I just want to – _need to_ – avoid her.

I am not going to go back there and face my sister._ I won't._

* * *

**Author's Note:**

each chapter will be written from each character's perspective, therefore will be entitled based on the said character. There isn't much revelation going here but isn't that how first chapter works? Keep the mystery running, pin your audience to their seats. Some of you are probably thinking how childish, bratty and envious Chizuru is but yes, that's the point. I'm not going to lie; she isn't a happy-go-lucky, all stars and rainbows kind of girl because that's not realistic, to my opinion. Of course, there will be reasons behind everything, you just have to wait and read everything through :) Chizuru won't stay bratty til forever, don't worry.

**Reviews are very much needed and appreciated.**


	3. Kaoru

**Paper Hearts**

**Chapter 2: Kaoru**

* * *

I have been watching her for the last few minutes. I watched on how she placed one hand just below her chin, another one fiddling with the iPod she has been hiding underneath the table – _forward, forward, switch songs, fast forward_. As if it wasn't obvious enough, her eyes speak of the truth so vivid and clear of how tedious biology is it might as well be dead for her conscience. I've always known, though, that biology isn't the place where she belongs. She belongs to physics, to gravity, to the complex theory of Newton's law, to the stars and their constellations I cannot and will never be able to decode. She speaks of languages composed of different alphabets; a "normal" fifteen year old teenage girl would be flipping pages over fashion magazines, or the latest gossips and trends, something she never did. A "normal" fifteen year old would giggle and try to engage interesting boys in a conversation, something she never did.

Sometimes, I'd like to think that she's probably an alien from the future, speaking stars language instead of Japanese or any other. I have to admit, though, it _is_ interesting in a very amusing way. After all, everyone and everything are nothing but toys, mere games and pawns my brother and I take control of. It's not difficult, really. Some people are too foolish (or naïve, whichever you'd prefer), too simple and easy to be manipulated, to toy with. I remember how, back in middle school, my brother and I had the habit of purposely switching our identities, fooling people around and tearing love letters apart as if they meant nothing. They still mean nothing to us now, anyway.

News spread, rumors chant. People began thinking of a suitable nickname for the two of us. I don't know how did they come up with the artifact of Hitachiin twins being devil-borns but I guess, we sort of enjoy it. Nevertheless, the love letters never stopped and as time goes by, my brother and I learned how to fake the so-said "friendly smiles that can melt all the girls in school." First, whoever the girl would be, she'd walk up to both or either of us and if both of us were there, my brother would ask her to guess, to pick which one is which. Of course, not everyone just differentiate us like that; we part our bangs differently but still, some people are too blunt to pay attention. Albeit that, we are hosts and as such, we are expected to stand strong on our "profession." Here's the trick: if she fails to differentiate which one is which (something that always seem to happen), we'd still forgive her. The only difference is that if the letter was meant to be for me, I'd extend a hand and put on one talented, fully trained smile, saying "thank you" whilst accepting the envelope. When it comes to my brother, however, it's different yet similar; he would accept it with furrowing eyebrows and head tilted forty five degree sideways before finally shoving it inside the pocket of his blazer. No smile, no nothing. The envelope's probably all crumpled and messy if he were to take it out again, not that either of us cares.

And the similarity, you ask? We would go home, back to our mansion, and just like that, say farewell to those letters as they kiss the dust bin – either that or the fireplace. Besides, hosts _entertain_ girls, not _date_ them. We are entertainers, _not_ paid boyfriends.

While it seems that almost every girl in this school had once experienced what it was like to enter the third music room, there are still those who never wish to try it. Not even for a second just to take a small peek. One of them is someone like her; someone who'd rather read all the astronomy books in the library or listen to music all alone in silence. She's not a talker but when she starts being one, her voice and words never fail to drip in tremendous sarcasm. And that, to me, is something – _someone_ - interesting, amusing even.

"Psst, Kaoru," I turn towards my brother who seems to be holding back a series of laughter. I frown. He has this ugly face that says "help me before my laughter explodes and I die", something I've always found ridiculously absurd, "look, look. She's snoring like a farm pig."

The nudge he forces on my shoulder is enough to make me turn to see what is so entertaining early in the morning. Biology isn't something I enjoy either; I'm more of a math person, thank you very much. Bones and enzymes don't fit my dictionary, numbers and formulas do.

"She really _is_ a farm pig." My brother repeats. Sadly enough, I am not very good when it comes to hiding my laughter which is already waiting to burst at the pit of my gut and so, it explodes in a flurry of bombastic dry humor.

"What is that noise!?"

"Sir, I'm afraid you have a farm pig snoring in your class _and_ she looks like she's enjoying being in la-la-land."

I never realized how much of a troll my clone was but now I do. I see the Cheshire grin on Hikaru's face, just the adept amount of wideness for him to pass an audition to Alice in Wonderland musical if there's one.

"Masuda!" the middle aged, bald man we call teacher closes his book sternly, yelling out her surname through gritted teeth only to be ignored by her slight moan, "Masuda Chizuru!"

Here's the question: I never knew a biology teacher could get violence. What happened to "waiting patiently for plants and animals to grow beautifully?" – whatever happened to that kind of stereotypical thinking, I can tell how the whole class is stunned by what just happened. Surely it's not every day you get to see a frustrated bald man – _teacher_, excuse me – throw something at his student now, do you? Good thing it's a chalk or she would have gone flat like a naan bread.

"_What!?"_

And here's to the saying I just spoke of about how interesting and amusing Masuda Chizuru is. There is only one thing I wish right now: a popcorn. I chuckle at the sight of the bald man massaging his temple, obviously exhausted and taken aback. He then tells her to answer the questions on the board which, I dare bet millions on this, she has no idea what they're talking about.

"Psh, I bet she doesn't understand a thing." Hikaru smirks. I know that tone when I hear one, especially when it's coming from my own twin. Hikaru is underestimating her and I see she does take note of this as well hence the growl as a response.

"Shut up." Her voice runs cold and bitter, like venom dancing through your blood vessel. She's not forgiving, she doesn't falter and those are two other trivia I've come to realize ever since she walked into our classroom with face so cold and stoic she looked like a marionette made of porcelain.

But it's not like I would falter either. She can shoot daggers for all she wants but I am not backing down. I _don't_ back down to other people unless they are the host club members or my own brother. She is probably testing the lioness' strength within her but she isn't going to get what she wants; I tap my fingers on the table, following my brother's movement and purposely motion her to walk up the "stage", taking the honor to fill up every question available. I can sense her pulse beating fast, her blood raging but that doesn't stop from being the devil either. Everything is a game and anger isn't the way to win it. She turns to face the teacher, only to get yelled at for her answer of "I don't think I can do it."

In a game, it is essential not to make a fool out of yourself.

* * *

I always tell Hikaru everything.

Or maybe not, maybe not _every single thing_. I'm sure you've heard of twins having the ability to _talk_ to each other without having to actually _really talk_ – you know, the stuff psychic kids do (not that we are psychics or anything like that because no, we're not), stuff like mind reading and telepathic connection. Some would call it a gift, a fun experience; I, on the other hand, don't particularly fancy it as much. Even if this might come off as hurtful or anything, I'm glad I can finally learn how to shut my own brother from reading my mind. Back when we were kids, we _loved_ doing it, the "let's read each other's mind" thing. In fact, we often use it as an advantage to prank others.

It wasn't until we started off as second year students in Ouran that I'm starting to find the need to occasionally shut the door for Hikaru. Don't get me wrong; we still share, always have always been. It's just that there's no denying about how difficult it is for one to get his own privacy when he has someone – _a clone_ – who can access his every single thought like a public library. To be honest, I didn't quite recall how it happened but it worked, it just did. Hikaru would sometimes throw out questions on me like, "Kaoru, it's weird, isn't it? I can no longer hear what you are thinking" or "Kaoru, is it me or do I feel you shutting yourself from me?"

I never meant to shove him away. We were together ever since day one; he's basically another version of _me_, I couldn't possibly shut him away now, could I? It would be like kicking yourself on the face and for sure, that's not something to be taken so light heartedly. Then again, probably, he could feel it and he's trying to respect it, my privacy that is. I don't know how but Hikaru thought that as the older sibling, he should be the one learning how to respect my privacy is.

I lied about the whole "I always tell Hikaru everything" thing. Although not completely, I still lied a little about it.

To begin with, Hikaru never knew about _my_ new toy. Ever since we were kids, we've been sharing almost anything and everything and then suddenly, _a change of route_. When Masuda Chizuru entered the classroom for the first time, I thought about how interesting she would be as _my_ new toy. It's selfish, I know but I was too curious to share, to care about the concept of caring. She was and looked cliché, plain and bored – a porcelain marionette dressed in skinny jeans and sweatshirt with hair stopping just above her collarbone, making her look even more like a lifeless cyborg rather than a human. I never found out the reason behind her "I wear what I like" idealism, I guess it must have been some special agreements between the chairman and herself.

It wasn't long before Hikaru nudged me from his seat which is located just beside mine. He whispered about how happy he was to have found a new toy for the _both of us_. I threw him a smirk and I could have sworn we both had identical devious grins across our faces. Not that we cared, though, since we practically live up to that word – "devil."

"She looks like a commoner," Hikaru whispered, "like Haruhi but…sloppier, dirtier and more boring."

"She's probably the dull, cliché, '_I don't want to get along with anyone'_ type." I concluded. Hikaru nodded and we watched at how she introduced herself. It was… weird, to say the least; she stuttered on her words, her voice raspy and broken, her posture lazy and bored, hands inside the pocket of her pants – she may have the look of a doll but she wasn't acting like one. Hikaru and I then concluded that she's just another commoner whose house is probably of lower level than that of Haruhi's.

"Masuda Chizuru, er.. I guess this is where you say _'nice to meet you'_, eh?" I saw the frustration across her green eyes, "uh—teacher, can I sit—where's my seat?"

Beside me, Hikaru groaned. _It was boring_, he said, _she doesn't look like a fun toy to mess with_, he added. I beamed in return, thinking of the opposite. This is where the polar opposite butts in; Hikaru likes a toy that's easier to read, a little bit of mystery here and there is fine but he'd rather play around with someone like Haruhi, someone he can read like an open book. On the contrary, the secretive a toy becomes, the better the challenge is. I'm not sure if this is what you call "Ootori Kyoya's disease" but I'm starting to feel that his disease is spreading.

She took the empty seat beside me, also known as the window seat (last row, at the corner of the classroom). She sat and that's it. We were told to open our history textbook and I realized that she wasn't making any effort to do so. Instead of picking up her textbook, she took out her black iPod and started fiddling with its play button. Half an hour later, the teacher finally took noticed of it, told her to flip open the textbook which she did half heartedly. However, that didn't stop her from listening to her iPod and ignoring whatever the whole class was discussing about.

* * *

I wanted to say that Hikaru has the fetish of approaching new students and introducing us, calling it "getting along with the new toy" instead of any other that might discriminate the image of Hitachiin brothers but seeing as how I am his brother, his clone, I might as well said that this is _our_ fetish.

Right when the bell rang, Hikaru was the first one to stand up. He whistled and hummed and tried to look as friendly and genuine as possible, I smirked while trailing behind him like an obedient puppy.

"Welcome to Ouran, Chizuru-chan."

I remember how she clicked her tongue, feeling annoyed. I took notice that she didn't want to look like _the_ new student, what's with the attention and all. She unplugged her earphones and frowned and that was where the awkward silence began.

"Well?" she opened her mouth and that time, it wasn't raspy and croaky anymore; her voice was clear and although it wasn't low, it was stern enough to let the world know that she has the pride of a lioness, "if all you're going to do is stare at me as if I am some alien of Mars then I suggest you two leave me alone because first, I am not an alien and two, I would love to leave the classroom, please."

Sarcasm, I see. It wasn't rare though; I've heard sarcasms, very much and repeatedly at that. Who do you think Kyoya-senpai is? He's _the_ Shadow King, ruler of the sarcasm community. He should really be awarded for that skill, no kidding. Plus, having to work with him in the same club, let's just say we are all immune to that, me and Hikaru that is.

"Hey, hey, Chizu-chan, where are you going?" Hikaru purred, "do you want us to show you the way round?"

"No, thank you," by then, she was standing up but she chose not to face us and instead, gave us a reply whilst looking straight, "I am not a baby. And as far as I remember, I did not give you the permission to address me by my first name—and what is 'Chizu-chan', can't you find a better name? Or maybe not. Now, will you please excuse me, I want to leave the classroom and go find somewhere else quiet—"

"You talk too much," I chirped, "you're one sarcastic person, aren't you?" it was quite amusing, really, to see how her face went from dolly pale to tomato read. Clearly, the heat was getting the best of her.

"You seem fun—" Hikaru started.

"—yeah, you should be our new toy." I added.

We were expecting a comeback, another sarcastic remark but instead of anything like that, she shook her head and snickered. Grabbing her messenger bag, the newbie walked pass us without a word, her shoulder collided against mine.

I am not so stupid to realize that she did it on purpose.

* * *

People always said that there's always the first time for everything. It made me believe that the failure in trying to engage a conversation with our brand new toy for the first time was nothing but a simple trial and error quiz however, who would have guessed that the difficulty continues even after she's been here for months. She always puts on a smirk or a sneer or simply the mean stare to everyone who tries to talk to her; girls and boys alike. Hikaru once described her as the girl whose life revolves around hatred, jealousy and other bitter adjectives you can think of. I couldn't help but to agree. After all, why would anyone snap at everybody when all they did was trying to befriend you? It doesn't make sense.

Just when I was too deep in thoughts, Hikaru pokes my shoulder, signaling me to face the right. I follow his stare and he grimaces. Our "new toy" is sitting at the far end corner of the cafeteria, munching on her chocolate bar and enjoying a tall parfait filled with creams and strawberries. If Honey-senpai eats his sweets with a happy face and heart filled with fluffy rainbows and dancing clouds, she's eating her sweets with a chafed expression and heart filled with erupting volcanoes and howling tsunamis.

"Uh oh, look at who just got punishment for snoring in class like a pig." If this is a game of chess, Hikaru is probably in control of the white pieces, hence the first move. I smirk, ready to play alongside my brother.

"That's not very nice, brother." I comment sarcastically as I sensed the tension and anger building up within her. Now this is what I called the rage of a lioness.

"But won't you agree that she does snore like a farm pig?"

"Ah, you sure have a point there."

She refuses to turn around and face us and chooses to continue munching on her chocolate instead. Hikaru chuckles, I shake my head. The harder the wall a toy tries to build, the more challenging this game grows.

"So," I laugh, placing a hand on her shoulder, "what's the punishment this time?" She's quite the famous one, if I may say so; famous for going back and forth towards the teacher's office only to receive different kinds of punishments, sometimes a duplicate as well. To my surprise, she shoves off my hand, finally turning to face us with eyes flaring with fury.

"Hm, you aren't the talkative type, are you? I barely see you talking to anyone in this school—"

"—perhaps a cat got her tongue, brother."

"Oh, that is such a great possibility!"

This time, she doesn't growl. Instead of growling, she chooses to hiss like a snake ready to spread venom on her preys. I place both hands on my hips, frowning with the intention of taunting her frustration to a higher level. I can sense that she's almost at her breaking point, pupils dilating and fingers wrapping around her chocolate bar tighter (almost breaking it into two) the moment Hikaru and I teased her about being snake-like.

Man, this girl needs to learn how to chill, to cool down. Or maybe she needs a whole lot of ice packs? Yeah, that can help, I think. She overheats too easily; that's not good. Hikaru and I don't like difficult-to-manage toys. And even if she's furious, I'd rather have her _talk_. I don't understand why she refuses to talk around us but talk _at least_ a single word to anyone in school. If anything, I feel offended, probably a little bit pissed. What is wrong with talking to us, twins anyway? It's not like we are some kind of reapers who like taking away people's voices. So the question is, what makes it so difficult?

"Oi, Masuda," this is the first time I've called her name – surname, yeah, whatever – and it feels weird, the syllabus feels like they're made up of weird alphabets that humans won't be able to tolerate; it doesn't feel right, "don't look so bitter. You always look so bitter at everything and everyone—"

"—you should chill, like your sister—"

"Stop comparing me to—"

As much as I hate her stopping in midway like that, Hikaru has turned my head so that we are both facing the cafeteria's entrance. A group of third year girls entered, chatters and laughter explode like harmony of the church but that's not what Hikaru is telling me to stare at. I know my brother and I've known how he fancies one of the second year girls, a newbie to be precise and Chizuru's sister at that.

"Ah, look! There she is!" although I do not fancy her as much as Hikaru does, I'd be lying to say that she isn't something to stare at. If you compare the two, it's unbelievable to accept the fact that they are related by blood, born from the same parents. She is anything Chizuru isn't; the younger sister is anything but fierce and sarcastic, a lioness who is always on the verge of exploding and is very bad at managing her temper. On the other hand, the older Masuda is a well-mannered young lady who was trained to be someone of Yamato Nadeshiko-esque, having the skill to talk with such light, soothing voice in any occasion.

Hikaru's eyes flare and his lips turn into a wide grin. He's too busy with gazing over a newborn star that, it seems to be, he is not aware of Chizuru trying to hide her petite self behind us. I've taken notice of how her face grows pale, the sarcastic and fierce exterior replaced by a look of surprise and anxiety. There's an urge of asking her why; why is she hiding, why does she look anxious, why does look scared or what is so she scared of and yet, I speak of nothing. Not even a word.

The older Masuda, however, has spotted her little sister. Her eyes grow wide and her lips form a smile, she looks elated and satisfied so why is Chizuru concealing herself then? What is it between them? And come to think of it, nobody ever really see the two interact with each other. They are siblings and yet Chizuru acts as if she knows nothing about her.

"Chizu!"

Without hesitation, the younger Masuda sprints; legs running, sneakers crunching against the porcelain floor and sweets abandoned on the table. When she started running, I stole a slight slide glance only to discover that her eyes were both looking afraid _and_, at the same time, disturbed. I'm sure she heard her name being called, over and over again, but she's not stopping; _she doesn't want to and she won't_.

I know quite a few things about Masuda Chizuru. I know she likes stars and star gazing, I know she excels in physics and that is where she belongs (not biology and cutting around hearts and other organs), I know she likes sweets as much as Honey-senpai does. Don't get me wrong, _I don't stalk_; I just happen to observe but we'll put these in for a discussion for another day.

As for the mean time, I can't help but to wonder about one thing and one thing only: _what makes her run away from her own sibling? What is happening, really?_

* * *

**Author's Note:**

as we all know, Kaoru is the more sensitive, less evil twin so I'm making him more...observant than Hikaru is. And no, he doesn't stalk, if that's what you're thinking :P He doesn't stalk our bratty, full of hatred Chizuru. I can't believe how long this chapter is; it's 4,002 words without the author's note. How crazy is that! Wow, I'm on a roll and you guys are lucky I'm updating it this fast. As always, your questions and doubts will be answered in future chapters so waiting is all you can do 8D

also, considering how the twins are now in second year of schooling and that Kyoya and Tamaki are third years, I'm going to make the twins be more...mature than before although, of course, the pranks and evil doings will forever stick to them. I just realized how I haven't inserted Haruhi at all! My apologies for Haruhi's fans. I'll insert her in the next chapter, hopefully.

Anyway, enough chit chat. **Reviews keep me motivated and are always needed so please do so :) **


	4. Aoi

**Paper Hearts**

**Chapter 3: Aoi**

* * *

When you see a family member running away from you, what is the first thing that pops into your mind? Does she hate me or does she fear me? My hypothesis lies on the first possibility: _she hates me_. My sister hates me. And here, to you and you only, I can say how I saw the fire blazing inside her eyes, how her lips had twisted up into a seal zipped tight, her fists clenched and all the blood rushing in her veins, the treacherous adrenaline rush creeping in. She didn't stopped and I knew she never wanted to but I continued shouting her name anyway, the familiar syllabus a remembrance locked shut in my esophagus. When was the last time I had screamed out her name? When was the last time she answered me? When was the last she _faced_ me, even?

A few years ago and the thing is, "a few years" could mean something more than two or three years – it could be four, five or even more. I don't even remember when was the last time we sneaked a peek just to glance at each other, just so our eyes met – her the color of gray like that of a wolf on my blue ones the color of marine sea. I suppose people change over the years, millions of reasons hovering in mid air that I have no idea which one to grab. Soon enough, we lost contact of each other the moment Chizu left home, not bothering to even greet me or our parents despite our attempts of trying to reach her, be it through phone calls, mails or anything, really.

I once thought it was selfish though, to run away without notice like that. First thing in the morning and father had found a small note on the dining table, Chizuru's small, block writings scribbled on it:

_"I'll be living with Aunt Mari. You don't have to get me. I'm fine."_

We thought it was just a temporary thing but alas, it wasn't. I would be lying if I said I do not wish to go back in time, to retrieve back the old memories that we once had. We were normal and everything was normal; there were the four of us and we were sitting by the dining table like a perfect family we once read in fairy tales and bedtime stories. We were complete, almost infinite.

Then it crashed and we became nothing but strangers. It was weird, bizarre actually, how everything could be absolute and all aligned for a moment before suddenly, turning into a pile of unused ashes, burnt and swept away as if they never existed in the first place. Nevertheless, I still keep my faith close, that someday, somehow, everything will and can go back to normal; Chizuru would go home and live with dad and I again, we would sit by the fireplace watching a few movies or catch up with the latest television series available. At first, I was holding on to an empty possibility but everything changed the moment I saw her in this school. I am not sure what or how or when did she even applied but she did. She is in Ouran and that made me give our father possibly the widest smile I have ever shown in my sixteen years of existence.

Alas, it wasn't as smooth as I thought it would be. Chizuru has been avoiding me since her first day here. Despite not living together, I understood the look she had on her face the first time she arrived here; she was not delighted, she still isn't, though. I wanted to ask her questions but she wasn't very cooperative, either.

In Ouran, news traveled fast, especially if you are a newcomer. I was fiddling with my camera when a group of third year students approached my desk. They all had a questioning look mixed with confusion on their faces that I couldn't help but to laugh at, although it was kind of rude.

"Aoi-san!"

"Aoi-san, is it true that the newbie is your sister?"

I nodded, "ah, Chizu. Yes, she is."

"Don't you think it is weird?" one of the girls questioned, "Aoi-san is very well-mannered while her sister is—"

"Ah, Aoi-san. I didn't mean to—"

"It's fine, really." I braced a smile. One of the things I've been taught ever since I was a child: keep your friends close, your enemies closer. Smile and suppress the explosive ego. A lady should keep her tranquility intact under any circumstances, or so I was taught.

I pretended not to care, to drown myself into dealing with my camera. They had no idea I was completely aware of their words, every single alphabet that came out of their lips. I felt my fingers stiffened around my camera's body at every word. They knew nothing about Chizuru, they never would, anyway. The world can say anything they want about Chizu but hey, they'd never realize one thing: I _would do anything to live as freely as my sister could._

* * *

"Aoi-san, let's go to the host club today –"

"Eh but—"

"Aw, come on, Aoi-san! It'd be fun! Plus, Tamaki-senpai and Kyoya-senpai are members too! Don't you wish to just—see them in action?" I let out a tiny smile at the mention of their – _his_ – names. Nonetheless, I know he is off limits; then again, isn't everyone involved in the whole host club shenanigan off limits? Well, everyone but Fujioka Haruhi, that is.

"I think I'm going to pass," _flash a smile, keep the composure, head ahead and back straight – _my father's voice echoes in my head, like a command I cannot possibly escape from, so I did. I flash them a smile, the best of the best, the friendliest among the rest, "I am going to study in the library—"

"Fine," she sighs and I can see I have upset my "friend" (a words that can never seem true – too good to be true, even – but I keep it in my dictionary, anyway because what else can I do with it? Father said get as many friends as possible even if they make you feel like something else – a benefit, an advantage), "I will wait for you if you want, Kei."

"Really?" her eyes lighten up almost instantly. That was a quick change, wasn't it?

"Or maybe I will go to the third music room as soon as I am done staring at books in the library."

"Aoi-san, you are the best! You're my true friend!" she envelops me into a bear hug, so tight I need to ask for a room to breathe. I watch as she quickly runs towards the exit, her shadow a vanishing act in a blink of an eye.

The first time I followed Kei towards the third music room after school was the second time I met him again. I don't think he remembers me though since he was too occupied being the cool host he was nicknamed to be around a flock of chirping girls. Nevertheless, I _do_. Like a memory chip installed in a digital camera, the recollection was carved at the back of my mind and I can assure you that it's not in the form of scattered, vague fragments but rather, an eloquent picture, almost like a painting.

When we first met, it wasn't a really pretty picture. There was no "hi" or anything such as giving each other the awkward smile; it wasn't anything like what I have read in books. There was no silent moments, no stealing glances, nothing. In fact, it was him calling out my (sur)name repeatedly, trying to bring my conscience back on track. A failed attempt though, because I remember waking up in the infirmary, on the hard, rock solid bed.

The first encounter (technically, it wasn't really a precise, direct encounter but let's just shove that argument off) and that was during my second year in Ouran.

The second encounter happened during the start of third year.

Kei had forced me into the third music room, squealing about our classmates that are Tamaki and his glasses best friend being in the host club team hence the necessity to "visit" them. It was a massive party though, the host club. Despite being a third year, the chairman's son still keeps his flamboyant and narcissistic personality close, probably glued together somewhere into his brain. The twins – the so-called devil-borns, although I refuse to believe so – stay as the same, treating everyone as their toys and making a fool out of everyone through their "which one is Hikaru" game. Haninozuka and Mori had left the host club, though not permanently. I heard they purposely seek for a university close to Ouran but of course, I have no confirmation and I am not interested in being nosy.

I place my palm onto the detection scanner and the automatic twin door slides open. I close my eyes, inhaling the essence of papers and ink, the books resting peacefully on their respective shelves. I like the library; it soothes me just the way photography and nature does, it clears my tension away and for a moment there, it pushes away the fact that I do _not_ and will _never_ live the same carefree life as Chizu's. Perhaps, this is what people call a temporary bliss, a brief sanctuary.

For some reason, instead of approaching a shelf where all books about algorithm are located, I find myself standing in between two different shelves – astronomy and physics. I wasn't born to understand them, they are not my forte. I was never a number person, unlike Chizu and yet I am still standing on the same position, unnerved and not moving.

Chizu has always loved the stars, the planet, the universe – _space science_. As a child, she was easily fascinated by them; how does planet Earth rotates and when did it first experienced its first rotation, what forms the virgo constellation or what is the speed of a falling asteroid. Chizu plunged herself into the universe of space science ever since the age of six, going as far as to whine and ask for a telescope as birthday present which, of course, was never approved by our father. I chuckle at the memory of young Chizu trying to save up for the sake of a telescope. Those were the good old times, back when everything was still perfectly aligned and symmetrical.

Sighing, I pick one of the astronomy books, trying to understand Chizuru's language. Just like how she could never understand my fascination over biology, I failed to understand her "language" despite the countless attempts. We don't click, we never did. We didn't know what it was like to not being able to understand to your only sibling, the person who was supposed to make you feel at ease whenever there is something troubling you, to balance all the mistakes up. We played and laughed together while shoving away the fact that we were never placed in the same world; Chizu has her own fascinations and I have mine. When we lived together, none of us felt the differentiation, the great gap in between us. When Chizu left, everything seemed to crumble apart and I was left all alone, with father going on business trips every now and then, leaving me deserted and rotten at home with a house so enormous it's not even rational.

It was then that I've finally witnessed how broad the breach between us has always been, it was as if a sudden, massive earthquake has eventually reached its maximum point hence breaking the ground below our feet apart, resulting in a giant, uncontrollable crack. And just like that, we found ourselves standing apart from each other, across from each other – she has her own ground and I have mine to keep – on different pathway, different cliffs: we are two polar opposites with so many flaws, always have always been.

And when she started treating as if our family tree was never to begin with, I've realized how void the breach has increased and how it's starting to become so wide that I can barely see its ending point – a never-ending tunnel.

I don't know if Chizu wanted to return to the old times or simply leave it behind. I know I want the first option, though.

* * *

I end up reading thick books about biochemistry instead of other things. First, I don't get along with physics. Second, I barely give any thought about tomorrow's algorithm test. Stretching my arms, I return the books to their respective shelves and head out for the third music room.

The idea of entering the third music room all by myself without Kei trailing – leading - beside me like a hyper puppy drives me worried. If anything, I would fake some kind of sudden illness and leave, walk back home as if Kei never called me five minutes ago asking me to run for the third music room. I sure was thinking of that, before ditching the idea. Besides I am not very good at creating a spontaneous idea of an illness, I might end up revealing the real one and it is fine enough that nobody has yet to know about it. _Not even Chizu_.

I close my eyes, trying to gather up all the courage there is before finally pushing the grand-looking door open. What greets me is no surprise for I am used to the sight of Tamaki Suou twirling around in frenzy, bowing down ninety degree while offering his hand. I chuckle, though not accepting his hand.

"Well hi there, chairman's son." I nod at his welcoming smile.

"Nice to see you here, Aoi-chan," as much as Tamaki isn't the kind of person I love hanging around with, I can't help but to laugh at his antics, "what brings you here?"

"Kei." I point towards my friend who is way too enjoying herself being fooled by the twins into their "which one is Hikaru game." I sigh when Kei shouted out her answer which, of course, may or may not be right. The twins will do anything to fool their clients anyway.

"So, princess, which one are you going to assign today?"

"Tamaki, you know I don't—"

"Still objecting to pick your host, I see." He chuckles.

Scratch it when I said Tamaki wasn't the kind of person I'd hang out with. Maybe, just maybe, if he keeps his sanity like this, I would consider a second option. It still surprises me how the extravagant prince everyone fawns over can act differently sometimes – less flashy, less flowery and just…sane. If only he can keep it that way.

"I'll wait for Kei at the corner," I quickly reply him when he was about to protest, "I won't get bored, I have my book with me."

"Alright then, if that's what you wish. I will go back to my table if you'd excuse me."

I partially hide my face behind the book in my grip, occasionally taking a sneak peek and giggle at how the host club prince tries to flatter his clients. I spot Kei at the far end corner, squeaking and clapping enthusiastically at almost every single thing the twins do. What's their infamous trick again? _Right, the forbidden love thing_.

"Aoi-senpai."

"Hm?"

I don't usually fancy being disturbed when I was too deep in thoughts – be it during reading or simply observing. Nonetheless, I cannot possibly yell out frustration on Fujioka Haruhi. Her large, brown eyes gaze at me, as if wanting to speak but is intimidated to do so. I realize how there won't be a continuation of anything if it's not me who speak first.

"Can I help you with anything, Fujioka-san?"

"I was thinking if you, uh… you want something to eat?" she smiles like a flustered child which makes it even more adorable to look at, "do you want some tea?"

"Sure, that'd be great."

She clasps her hands and bows down energetically, quickly moving away to do her task, a broad, child-like smile still plastered on her face. Seeing the spark in Haruhi once again reminds me of how Chizu once grew up to be; she was anything but a sarcastic girl who built up walls made of hard steel and cold iron to protect herself from the world. Haruhi is an open book, easy to read, easy to be predicted. Chizu, on the other hand, is anything but that. The classification is too definite. Haruhi is what I'd probably call the old Chizuru—

"It's the same book again."

"Yes, it is. How did you—"

It doesn't take me even a second to quickly hide myself behind the book, again. I can feel the heat rising up to my face; I don't usually falter but now I do and let me remind you that it is not a good feeling. It doesn't feel like I am in control of myself and it frustrates me. Suddenly, I am praying for Kei to just quickly get over with the whole Hitachiin thing and for Haruhi to quickly finish her tea brewing moment or whatever you call that – except, Tamaki is now seen introducing his "daughter" to his clients and that Kei is too absorbed with the whole Hikaru game that she doesn't notice my paranoid expression.

Masuda Aoi does not falter. She keeps her head held high and her posture straight, eyes calm and smile so genuine (almost true) that shows off the lesson she had been taught ever since she was a child. Nonetheless, here she is; faltering, nervous, paranoid, _scared_.

"That was what's tucked inside your blazer when you fainted, I still remember it."

_I still remember it_.

Well, look who remembers.

Silently, I put down my book although that doesn't mean I have gathered enough courage to finally face my "visitor" right straight in the eyes. Even if I do, I'd probably stutter through my words, mispronouncing several words and that is what father would call humiliating oneself. I can almost hear father's scolding echoing in my head like banging drums of an apocalypse, telling me how embarrassing and shameful it is for a well-trained Masuda to stumble and fluctuate. It's not in the list of rules, _never_.

"You do?" I murmur before whispering to myself, "_you do_."

"I see you like reading."

"It's a temporary sanctuary, Ootori-san." I smile, patting the cover of my book. If you ask me, right here right now, the trick to suddenly find my cool again with him taking an empty seat before me – I cannot possibly tell you _how_. I don't even know when did the calmness start kicking in – it just happened and all I'm doing for my part is gladly accept it.

"That's a very interesting concept you have there."

"Nothing stays forever now, does it?"

The conversation proceeds into something more of a puzzle left unsolved and that we are the decoders trying to solve its mystery, rather than a conversation where you have person A talks and B listens or replies and vice versa. He asks questions, I answer with another hypothesis and the cycle repeats. It's funny how I barely stumble upon my words. In fact, I do not stumble at all.

"It does, if you keep the moments as memories, that is." He remarks, fixing his glasses; a gesture I have taken notice whenever he is proud of himself.

"Nothing really change, Ootori-san."

"And why is that?"

"It doesn't make any difference if your world is nothing but a shade of black and white," I chuckle and he grins, "you can't really remember anything if your world is an achromatic area, Ootori-san."

"That," he replies, sounding amuse, "is another fascinating remark, Masuda-san. Is this how it feels like talking to someone who spends her entire lifetime drowning in books?"

"Is this how it feels like talking to an aspiring businessman?"

A few seconds later, Haruhi finally comes back with a cup of tea. The petite girl apologizes constantly, blaming everything on Tamaki for being irrationally stupid ever since he was born. I don't usually get along well with strangers or people I just met a few minutes ago but Haruhi might be an exception. I am not sure if the reason behind this is because she resembles and reminds me so much of young, adolescent Chizu or something else. Albeit that, she is probably the only sane person of the host club I can tolerate twenty four over seven.

"I'll be going back to my computer if you'd excuse me." I had almost forgotten that he was still seated there. I nod a little as he goes back to minding what probably counts as his market stock. Everybody knew how he is obsessed over stocks and other economic-related problems.

"That was rare." Haruhi speaks.

"What was?"

"Kyoya-senpai _approaching_ someone instead of the other way round."

"Really?"

"No kidding," Haruhi chuckles, "he scares everyone off too easily," she whispers, "to be honest, I don't know why some girls still flock over him. Anyway, did I disturb you-? You looked like you're enjoying his company—"

"No," I interject, almost too soon as I caught a glimpse of surprise across her face, "No, it's fine, really," I repeat, softer this time, clearing my throat to push away the tension, "let's talk about something else. Why are you in the host club when you're actually a girl?"

Haruhi's eyes grew wide for a second before sighing, "you are amazing, Aoi-senpai. I am amazed some people can spot my true gender directly—"

"—and I'm guessing Tamaki couldn't?"

"Yes, Tamaki-senpai couldn't. So the story goes like this—" Haruhi starts spilling the beans from zero – the reason why she's all dressed up looking like a male during first year, the vase incident, everything. As much as I want to focus on Haruhi's background story which, honestly speaking, is quite entertaining and amusing, her voice begins to leave my concentration, volume smaller and phase slowly left behind before eventually and completely shut down by my conscience.

A new voice, however, emerges.

_I still remember it_.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Finally, a time to update! I have to say though, life as an art student is very, very frustrating. There is barely an intermission with assignments over assignments being piled onto me. Therefore, an update may be slower than before since final exams are approaching. Also, I will be on vacation though I will have my laptop with me, I am not sure if I can update one chapter per day. Life is hectic, my apologies.

I have added more conversations/dialogues this time since one of my readers asked about it. You have yet to uncover the mystery though so just sit back and wait while everything is slowly being revealed. Also, I would like to thank everyone who has reviewed and read: you guys made my day! I am glad you enjoy my writing style; some even said it's beautiful - that's very flattering of you, thank you very much.

Let's just keep this short and sweet: **please review because it helps motivate me.** thank you and happy holiday!


	5. Kyoya

**Paper Hearts**

**Chapter 04: Kyouya**

* * *

There are two types of memories, long and short term and there are two types of people, the one who forgets and the one who's forgotten. Your brain sort of branched itself into two different path, two different categories that you can choose to store each and every incident that had happened, has happened or is happening. Long term memory, for instance, starts at the age of 3, a condition where humans are able to reflect – recall - back some time by digging up information that have been long stored inside the archive of our mind. This is the ground where we keep all "files" that may benefit us in the future, or so it was said to be. As for the other fellow – the short term hideout – we keep memories we find interesting, pleasing, _eye catching_ – like how Hani-senpai is able to eat cakes for one whole day without any break or the way Tamaki has tendency to growing mushrooms and poisonous little beings at the corner of every room due to Haruhi's rejection – for a brief period of time hence the risk of losing some of their pieces.

I, on the other hand, am a person who prefers to keep things equal on both sides. What is stored in the first path has to be accessible in the other, as ordinary as that. It's neat, organized and intact, just the way I like it to be. Unlike Tamaki whose life is too carefree to even remember about anything except playing house, I spend all day and night taking care of stock market and investments. One could say that I do not – _would not_ – keep something unnecessary inside my head for a long time since it will, the sooner the better, rot and deteriorate. It's the same thing with telling yourself to remember all the names of your classmate right after the first day of class end which, I assume, is quite impossible for most, even the teacher himself. Sometimes, if you're lucky enough, I might remember your name though the chance to that is pretty slim.

Oddly enough, things seemed to have gone wrong – somehow, _pretty much_ – earlier this afternoon during club activity. A part of me would be very glad to blame Tamaki for jumping out loud like a mad Christmas rabbit, for making such a big fuss over a visitor thus disturbing my concentration which was supposed to be nailed on the world's stock exchange. On the other hand, I knew that it was never Tamaki's fault. If anything, it was _my own_. I had stopped typing only to stare. I couldn't fathom why but that's what I did; I stared from the corner of my eye, the vivid figure a picture of a familiar girl whose atmosphere reeked of revenant I had lost somewhere in my head. Familiar she may be but I do not keep track of names from people whom I cannot possibly gain benefit from.

In spite so, she had rejected Tamaki's offer, opting to sit by the corner with a book in hand, probably waiting for her. It didn't take much time though, to have a bookworm sitting amidst all the noise and hubbubs, her eyes fixated against every page of her read, the invisible thread of concentration stayed connected. Right, I was never an avid reader of fictional novels – I _do_, however, read on non-fiction biographies, research, et cetera – but I do understand the feeling of being disturbed when you're too engrossed in something. Surprisingly enough, she handled the distraction better than I thought she would; with a gentle smile and soft-spoken speaking tone, sending the only female host in our club to stutter, looking embarrassed.

When Haruhi left her side, the treachery of my feet happened. Just like that. I found myself approaching her and not to mention, the curiosity itching to know why or how or _what_ made her look both alluring and intriguing, like a ghost shielded by millions of secrets. As I did, small flashbacks hovered at the back of my mind – _oh_, second year. _That's right_. Second year, physical education and the smell of iodine and chemicals and other generic drugs in an infirmary, clean white sheet a hard rock bed beneath the unconscious figure—

Oddly enough, I too remember the book she was drowning into and had, out of the blue, proposed a topic about it. A voice was laughing at me, at my curiosity but that didn't stop me from _actually_ asking—

"_It's the same book again."_

Correction; it wasn't a question but rather, a statement. I'd like to think that a question was meant to be asked when you're in doubt. I wasn't doubtful, I was sure of that book.

"_Yes, it is. How did you—"_

She lifted up the book, shielding her face thinking it would help clear her existence even for just a few minutes. If anything, it almost made me laugh. For a moment there, it felt like the calm and resourceful person who just entered pass our third music room was no more, replaced by a sheepish student who looked ordinary, plain, almost like an open book.

_Almost_.

There was a short conversation exchanged between us and no one realized how did the awkward beginning turned into a series of question overlaying each other. The fact that it was how she replied to every question I proposed, I wonder if that was how she replied others as well, o_r maybe not_.

When you're someone who came from a well-furnished family flooded in fame and wealth, there's a thin chance for someone to give you a question as an answer. Shoving aside a few irritating business partners, I did not grow up in a community where I couldn't wrap my fingers around anything and everything I wanted to have.

I excused myself almost instantly right after Haruhi showed up with a cup of tea, the usual commoner's instant tea that Tamaki recently found 'truly amazing.' The laptop was waiting, my market stocks were waiting and it was only right for me to pay my fullest attention to the monitor screen.

_I didn't._

Where was my attention, you ask?  
_Oh_, it was too busy being occupied by the school's database.

* * *

Biology is one of her strongest subjects.

Majority falls asleep as soon as we were told to "open page thirty nine". Then again, biology was not meant for everyone, not even Tamaki. The fact that he is sitting right beside me, eyes closed and half snoring, it is actually quite disturbing. Not that I could change this fact though, still, it's funny how we are both, well, _friends_.

In front, the preaching continues and the class is but an early graveyard drenched in silence of confusion and apathy. Some of them are too busy texting under the table, while others are busy sending letters to their friends.

Except for one person who always, _always_ occupies the front seat whenever biology's taking place. There's admiration drawn all over her face, like an enthusiastic five year old waiting to open a birthday present. Perhaps, this is what drives our middle aged biology teacher to strife his teaching method for the better every day. Everyone wonders why he still comes to school every day all ready and prepared to deliver another lecture when in fact, none of his student feels the need to listen. They just want biology to be deleted from their schedule, as simple as that. It was something I had once questioned to myself too, before realizing that maybe, _just maybe_, he still keeps up that tiny flicker of hope thanks to _her._

When the lecture's over, she raises up a hand, breaking through the boredom with a question, an interesting one as a matter of fact:

"Teacher, why do you think there is such thing as a genetically passed down disease?"

An expert may list down all the scientific reasoning behind it. Ask a biologist or your local pathologist, or just _any_ doctor in general and they would give you a complete elaboration to it. They would pour you all their knowledge, all the things they have learned from when they were still doctors in training; they would bore you to death.

However, that's not the point of interest.

I am sure it wasn't why she proposed that question. I don't understand why she questioned that but I can tell you one thing: when the teacher gave her an elaboration of some ridiculously long scientific explanation, her nose scrunched and for the first time ever since she arrived here, I spotted something else she never showed to anyone in school (the people who would surround and throw stupid questions, pressuring her).

I could have sworn I saw a reflection of grief and sadness.

Most people tend to believe a hundred and twenty percent in what they see.

When she first marked the school with her presence, they perceived her with imagination and illusion painted based on their expectation. They painted a Masuda-born girl, whose composure was built on a cleanly polished canvas, a girl who was born and gifted with the ability to communicate, to relate – a social butterfly. They put their trust on her, they love her so and they think they _knew_ her, in and out but do they, really?

She had given me an intriguing discovery. Surprisingly, there weren't much other than facts I bet everyone in school knew.

There's one, though.

Her fascination over photography, the eagerness to capture moments from behind the lens, the enthusiasm of wrapping ten fingers around a camera body and its lens.

I smile to myself, the taste of victory hitching underneath my throat. I'm not particularly fond about what I managed to find, no. An Ootori will always find a way to achieve whatever he wants. Besides, what's the use of having a wide branch of network and connection if you don't take advantage of it?

Some call it stalking, I, personally, call it a _research _instead.

Still, the feeling of satisfaction lingers. I don't think they knew about it, her passion for photography. I don't think they even asked her about it. They must have thought they knew everything there is about her, seeing how she's quite the social elite herself.

_It's my victory_, I had mentally whispered to myself. In fact, you might add a little bit of amusement into this. Who would have thought I'd find her in between the tall bushes which forms the hedge maze of Ouran—

"Have you been doing a research on me?"

_Sharp as a hawk, isn't she? Well, that's something._

"My apologies to have—"

"—intrude someone's private time?" she chuckles, releasing the viewfinder from her right eye. She turns, a mischievous grin intact, "I probably should be asking you about how you found me here; but I'd rather not."

"And why is that?"

"You're asking me about that? _Really_ now?"

"Or not."

It reminds me of the pointless short conversation we had in the third music room. There was no path, no certain destination whatsoever as to how this talk would end. Actually, it feels almost like a riddle, solving a tightly locked puzzle.

"So tell me," she begins, "what kind of information do you have about me?"

"That you breathe pictures."

"It's _photography_, Ootori-san," there's a slight sarcasm tingling in her voice, "frankly, I'm quite surprise myself to have an Ootori doing a research on me."

"Is that so? Why is that?"

"Curious, aren't you?" there's a challenge running in her words, every single alphabet that comes out is dripping with challenge, not that I'm complaining. I like challenges; they bring out the urge to fight back, to win, to overcome. Good practice, really.

"This place is, I suppose, your secret lair, then, _Masuda-san_?" the surname that stings my tongue like boastful fire.

"If I have to label it," she pauses, probably thinking of a suitable name, "I'd say it's a getaway, Ootori-san. And I would be very thankful if you keep this discovery as, for the lack of better word, a secret. Wouldn't want anyone in school to know that—"

I wait for her to continue but she doesn't. She stops talking, just like that. Hesitation? Perhaps. A part of me doubts it yet I couldn't reason out why. Her voice drops dead, defeated by a series of chirping birds and rustles of leaves. Normally, you'd get tired of waiting hence leaving the scene. I don't; I can't tell you why but I don't for my feet are not moving. So I wait for another few seconds until her voice breaks through the eerie tension between us.

"I-I'm sorry. I should probably get back," she steals a quick glance towards her black wrist watch. Her eyes, I have noticed, are shaking as if to show that she's nervous, _scared even_. Her pupils are dilated as she squirms and tries to continue, "Break time is almost over, Ootori-san," she fakes a smile, "I have to prepare for the next class. We're having algorithm test, remember?" this time, a pretentious chuckle, "I'm sure you'll top it though. Again, like always. Well then, if you'd excuse me."

She tried to sound casual, to sound normal but she couldn't, she didn't. I'm not a psychologist neither did I ever collect books about the human personality and mind; let's just say it's not the medical field I have always been interested in. I do, however, understand a sudden and irregular change of behavior in a person. Additionally, of course, a book about psychology would most probably tell you how to spot a person who's a) cornered b) worried or c) terrified.

The person I just talked to a few minutes ago was a perfect example of the three.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

I'm alive, surprisingly.

College is the definition of insanity, not to mention the assignments an art & design student gets. I have so many things under my hands but let's not hear the typical excuse a writer who doesn't update usually says.

**A little bit confession here:** I have trouble writing from Kyoya's perspective since he's a stoic, cold (demonic) character (the long pause was also thanks to me getting stuck inside his mind). You may have realized how this is such a static stiff chapter; it's done on purpose because I didn't want to turn this Ootori into someone who would directly jump into the pool of "I am curious about you so I'm going to stalk you 24/7 with my intelligence" - absolutely no.

Remember how there will always be a short chapter (probably only one and a half or two pages full) in a novel you sometimes pick? This is probably that kind of chapter if you were to print this fanfic. Just a short elaboration so people won't complain to me about how short this chapter is. Hands up.

Kyoya will grow because character development is really important and I don't like leaving it out of a story. He will grow and develop more... emotion, like a true mundane so just bear with me, if you'd will.

Anyway, enough chit chat. Reviews are always needed. I can't promise a fast update but let see about that.

_P.S: I am not a perfect writer neither am I a professional so just in case some people are going to shove me on the face, I apologize for bad writing. Thank you._


End file.
